by Wade McMahan
Eyebrows knitted, King Domhmall asked, “Would you make the enemies of the Druids also the enemies of a king?”
“Kings rule at the benevolence of their gods.”
Laoidheach interrupted. “Excuse me. My home is among the Ui Maine and I do not understand the hierarchal aristocracy of the Eoghanachts.”
“My pardon, Laoidheach,” my father replied. “Eochaidh mac Óengusso is King of Kings among the Eoghanachts and his realm encompasses seven houses. King Domhnall rules one of the houses here in Rath Raithleann.”
“I thought it might be something like that. Thank you,” Laoidheach nodded.
“Yes, Ciann,” the King continued. “And do you forget that King mac Óengusso is a sworn Christian? He serves his god, not the Lordly Ones. Were it not for our King’s tolerance he would force his beliefs upon us all.”
“Of course I have not forgotten, Your Majesty. However, the unprovoked attack on Dún Ailinne revealed the Christians for who and what they truly are. Perhaps you and his other regional kings can now show King mac Óengusso the folly of supporting the Christians and their ways.”
“He is a good, caring man and will be distressed by the atrocity at Dún Ailinne. Yet he is also an honorable man and will be reluctant to renounce his Christian god.” The King paused to think before continuing. “Write a letter to him on my behalf, telling of Dún Ailinne. Write it in a subtle manner that speaks to my concern for the need to maintain order while protecting the security of all, including those who stand beside the Lordly Ones.”
“Very well, Sire. I shall write the letter immediately.”
“Immediately, yes. I would send it to King mac Óengusso by courier today.” The King turned to me. “Now, Ossian. You and your friend would do battle against the Christians?”
“Yes, Sire. We will need warriors, and if the gods will it, we shall strike at those who would attack us.”
He returned to his seat and leaned towards me, forearms on his knees. “You will find many men here who will wish to join you. That is all well and good but I must place a limit on the number who may go. I cannot permit Rath Raithleann to become unprotected. Choose no more than forty men to side you.”
My heart was warmed by King Domhnall’s support. “Thank you. You are very generous. With those men and others who will join us along the way we will become a formidable force.”
He cocked his head and frowned. “Perhaps. You and your friend here will lead those men. What know you of war?”
“I studied the art of war during many lessons on it. I pray they will serve me well.”
He watched my face closely as I spoke, but shook his head. “Studying war is not all the same as practicing it. You will need experienced help, for a battlefield is not a classroom. Bring to me the names of the warriors who volunteer to go with you. I will help you select those who will serve you best.”
“Thank you, My Lord. It is comforting to know you are beside me when it seems many other kings will stand aside.” Anger rose within me. “And, may they fall for turning their backs upon the Lordly Ones and may the carrion crows feast upon their rotting corpses!”
“Ossian!” My father shook his finger at me. “Remember King Domhnall’s words. Many kings are lost within this darkness along with their people. Do not so quickly judge them. You are now a Druid. Act like one! Fight against them if necessary, but you must also search for ways to help those who are lost to find their way out of the darkness.”
It was shamed I was, for of course he was right. “My apologies, Father.” I turned to King Domhnall. “And to you, My Lord. Please excuse my stupidity and ill-chosen words.” I paused for a moment to allow clarity to replace the anger clouding my mind. “Indeed, perhaps they are right to step away. If this be a war between religions and not kings, then so be it. Let it never be said that Druids turned away from a battle.”
* * *
That night, following dinner, Ceara’s family joined us at my father’s home. I again met her husband, a serious-minded man of considerable wealth who owned much land and many cattle.
Laoidheach entertained us, sharing stories of our people and gods—Laegaire in Magh Mell, the wedding at Ceann Slieve, and the House of the Quicken Trees. I watched Aine during the telling of them, and she laughed often, her eyes never leaving the bard’s face.
He then recited an old ballad of Conn of the Hundred Battles, one of my father’s favorites. However, his entertainment was not ended. From somewhere Laoidheach had borrowed a lyre and he strummed it while singing of young lovers whose passion was destined to remain unrequited due to the actions of a cruel king. Again I watched Aine, and once more she was captivated, her full attention on him as he sang the haunting melody.
Later as we lay on pallets in my old bedroom, Laoidheach whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister like Aine?”
There would be trouble. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
Chapter 8
Spirits of Twilight
Laoidheach still slept when my father and I left the following morning. The new faint light returned and we walked to his fields where men anticipated the coming of sunlight and worked to prepare his ground for planting.
Afterwards we returned home to find Laoidheach slumped outside on a bench, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands.
I strolled over to stand beside him. “Why so glum?”
He straightened with a baleful expression on his face. “She won’t speak to me.”
“What’s that?”
“Aine refused to speak to me.”
My father snorted and strode into the house.
I knew my friend only too well and lowered my voice. “So, what suggestive thing did you say to her?”
“Suggestive? I only said ‘good morning’ and that’s the truth of it.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “I said good morning to her, but she turned up her nose at me,” he flipped his hand outwardly, “and walked out the door without saying a word.”
Two village women strolled past, stopped and bowed to me. I bowed in return, offering blessings. “May Brigid smile upon you and your homes. May she keep you and yours safe during these dark times.”
They curtsied. “Thank you sir,” one replied, while the other said, “And may the gods bless you as well,” and they went on their way.
My thoughts returned to Laoidheach. Aine’s behavior was baffling. She had been immediately attracted to him and only the night before clapped gaily during his entertainment. I stroked my chin as I thought it over. “You are certain there wasn’t more to it?”
“That’s all there was, and…” His eyes glinted as he pointed an accusing finger toward me. “Just a moment. What did you tell her about me?”
I grinned. “I told her I would give you a good thumping if you attempted to trifle with her.”
“Trifle with her? Ossian, you know full well I would never…” He cleared his throat and squirmed on the bench. “Well yes, I suppose I have trifled with a few women now and again, but I would never consider such a thing with my future wife.”
His words swirled through the air, entered my ears and my mouth fell open. “Your wife?! Are you daft? You only met Aine yesterday.”
He rose from the bench, nose lifted, an indignant expression covering his face. “That makes no difference. If Aine will have me, she shall become my wife. Provided your father approves, of course.”
I had seen Laoidheach animated over women many times but never had I seen him like this. He wished to marry Aine? Now I needed to sit on the bench so I elbowed him aside and plopped down.
“I realize she is sixteen years,” he continued, “but many girls marry much younger. Besides, being four years her elder I will bring maturity and stability to our marriage, don’t you see? So now, with your father’s permission, there remains but one problem.”
“That being?”
“She loathes me. Move aside.”
I scooted to the end of the bench and he sat beside me. He then resumed his previo
us unhappy position, chin in hands.
My eyes reached out through the morning gloom. Nearby cottages appeared little more than vague shadows. Perhaps it was the grayness of the morning but my first thoughts of my friend and Aine marrying saddened me. It was an altogether selfish sentiment, for I realized that my relationship with them would forever change. Yet there was rightness about the feel of it I could not deny. A small smile crossed my lips; both were like a butterfly that alights upon your fingertip, an ethereal, innocent visitor that instills joy and beauty inside your heart. Perhaps the gods long ago destined they should meet and thereafter float within the world of butterflies side by side.
A dimly seen movement caught my attention. It was Aine flitting like an unswerving arrow towards our home. I rose and greeted her with a “Good morning,” but she ignored me as she walked through the door and slammed it behind her.
Laoidheach groaned. “I told you.”
* * *
Sparks swirled, darted and joined with the smoke rising above the fire blazing before the stone altar. It was here within the Sacred Grove, as a youth, I spent countless days with my father. This night it served my purposes as an open-air temple.
Four days had passed since my arrival at Rath Raithleann, during which time I had neglected my responsibilities toward my dead friends. My eyes closed as I stood before the fire; arms spread wide, palms upward, I intoned a prayer for the dead of Dún Ailinne.
Within the still darkness,
Spirits of the lost,
Begging release,
Seeking the eternal.
O Aed, Lord of the Underworld,
Souls of Dún Ailinne,
Send them on their way,
Free them for all time.
By your gracious will,
Paradise awaits them,
Upon a distant shore,
Beyond the western sea.
My prayer was just begun, though I intended it for others with no thought of becoming a part of it myself. The fire’s smoke dissipated and the salty aroma of the sea filled my nostrils. I staggered to regain my balance as the ground beneath me shifted and sloped down to my right. Pitch-blackness prevailed while, again to my right, was the sound of waves washing upon an unknown shore.
It was a place I knew, a place told of in old stories, a place undefined by ‘where,’ but rather by ‘when;’ it was a place of waiting, a place of the dead. How or why I arrived there I could not imagine.
A shuddering moan broke the stillness and an ethereal green image shimmered before me only to whisk away and disappear into the distance. Spine-tingling shrieks, one atop the other, filled the air while I sensed more than saw spirit creatures churning within the darkness; indefinite forms not human, but which at one time might have been human. I cringed at the sights and sounds of those terrible dead things and trembled as unseen wings fluttered and swished overhead.
The ghastly essence within the distressful, lonely setting caused me to consider that perhaps I was merely the dupe of my own fantastic dream. I slapped my face hard, once—twice, but no. Conceivably I stood amid the reality of an implausible unreality, but it was no dream.
The haunting, dreadful sounds and motion ceased as unseen cymbals crashed, the reverberation emanating from I knew not where! Then ensued the deep throbbing of a drum—a double beat like the pounding of a man’s heart, thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum…
My eyes were temporarily blinded as two torches flared on the beach a mere five paces before me. Now I could see that a single-masted ship lay there nosed against the sand, sail furled, a gangplank extended to the shore. Two more torches blazed and then two more, two more, and on and on to form opposing parallel lines that ended atop a high dune on my left. It was a flame-lit corridor—but for who, or what?
The drumming continued and the head and shoulders of a hooded form appeared within the corridor above the top of the dune. The robed figure crested the rise and came on, proceeding down the corridor while behind it another individual arose, followed by another, and then another. A seemingly endless, single-file line of robed men marched in lock-step down the slope toward the ship, their paces keeping cadence with the sound of the drum; thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum, step-step, step-step…
I knew them, although how I knew I cannot say—the ghosts of the dead of Dún Ailinne. White spirit faces frozen like those of granite statues were framed within the hoods of their robes. It was with relief and gladness that I could not recognize the stone-like faces, for I did not wish to.
The line progressed before me and each figure, in turn, walked up the ship’s gangplank and disappeared aboard. At last the final figure mounted the top of the dune and there could be no mistaking it—Master Tóla.
My eyes held him as he followed the others down the dune and I waited in breathless anticipation until he came abreast of me. I called out to him, “Master Tóla!”
The throbbing of the drum stopped, as did the procession of the dead. He turned to me with unseeing eyes. His was the face I dearly remembered, though immobile like the others, as if graven in the rarest alabaster.
His lips did not move though he answered in his familiar voice. “What’s that? Did someone call to me?”
“Yes, Master. It is Ossian.”
“You say so? Should I know you?”
“Of course. I am or was your student.”
“I’m so very sorry. I do not recall.”
He did not recall? The strangeness of it held my tongue at bay.
He continued, “Are you the Druid who called for the ship lying there? If so, we whole-heartedly thank you. We have been waiting for it within this darkness for ever so long.”
It was with a sense of shame at my negligence that I replied, “My apologies. I should have prayed for your deliverance much sooner. Only now have I performed the sacred ceremony that might bring you final release. Since the very night of your…that is…um…since the night of the attack my thoughts were for your comfort and peace.”
“Your kind thoughts are appreciated. However, seek neither comfort nor respite within these halls of the dead, for you will find none here. Such bliss may only be found among the Golden Ones on the shores of Tír na nÓg. There by the aegis of the Lordly Ones all become young for all time.”
“Yes, Master, of course. Paradise awaits you on the shores of Tír na nÓg. Before you sail there, I would that you know that plans are already underway to bring vengeance against those who struck Dún Ailinne.”
“That may very well be, though vengeance holds no value to me. The world of the living embraces no actuality for the dead. It is the world of what was and might have been; a dream world that died with us. For the moment we of Dún Ailinne exist between worlds, only within the here and now on this lonely strand beside this sea. Yon ship waits to transport us all to our final reality, to the islands of Tír na nÓg—all save two still held within the dream.”
“Yes, Master. All save two. I am one of them, the other being the bard Laoidheach. Do you not remember our final night together upon Knockaulin?”
“Again I am very sorry, but no. I have forgotten that dream if such there ever was.”
“It is said that those at Tír na nÓg well remember the living and await their arrival.”
“Yes? Perhaps you are right, but that is not the case here.” He bowed before me. “Your pardon. I must go; the ship waits. May the gods’ blessings be upon you, Druid.”
I bowed in return. “And you, Master Tóla.”
Cymbals again crashed and the drumming recommenced. The Master turned away as the procession resumed shuffling toward the beach. My eyes followed him until he disappeared aboard the ship. Then the gangplank was pulled aboard by unseen hands, and the ship backed away from the shore to be swallowed by the night.
All became silent as the throbbing of the drums ceased and the echoes died away. The torches atop the dune wavered and went dark as became the case for all the others, as two by two in line toward the beach they flared and winked out.
Blackness returned as did the moans and shrieks, but the earth once more shifted below my feet and I staggered to keep pace with the motion. My head swam as the fresh aroma of the sea was replaced by acrid smoke. Before me sparks swam in the night sky above my fire within the Sacred Grove.
I swayed and fell to the ground, gratified by the clean smell of the earth as my fingers grasped the firmness of it. I smiled as I lay there. My remarkable encounter with the Underworld had been a beneficent gift from the Lordly Ones and I thanked them for their revelation and generousity. Peace filled me knowing all would be well with Master Tóla and my Dún Ailinne friends. Exhausted sleep found me.
* * *
I awoke to the grayness of the morning. Grass and leaves clung to my robe; my muscles were stiff after a night spent sleeping on the ground and they complained as I sat up. My hands scrubbed my face to wash the sleep from it.
A sense of being watched consumed me and I spun around to discover Aine sitting on the nearby bench, her hands clasped in her lap.
“Pardon me, brother, for disturbing you.” The anxious expression on her face arrested my attention. “You’ve been here the entire night and…so if…if this isn’t a good time we can speak later.”
I yawned and stretched; my stiff legs tingled as I extended them before me, kicking leaves. “No, you aren’t disturbing me.” Visions from the night before attempted to creep into my thoughts and I shook my head to clear them away.
A smile formed on my lips as I absorbed her poise. Her one-piece green and white floral dress covered her trim figure from her throat to the tops of her small leather shoes. “You wish to discuss Laoidheach?”
Her face flamed and she nodded. “Are my feelings toward him so obvious then?”
“I wouldn’t—”
Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it in alarm. “They must be since you knew my thoughts without asking! It’s shameless I am. What must he think of me?”
“He’s—”
“And don’t you make excuses for him!” She extended her hand forward, demanding silence. “He’s a man with his own thoughts so don’t you tell me that he hasn’t mentioned me.”